Page 35 of The Focal Point

“Oh.” His shoulders loosened. “Yeah, she’s still in there. The dining room, I think.”

“Thanks.” I gave him what I hoped was a friendly smile and headed inside. I could hear movement in the dining room, just as Hank had said, and Bailey looked up at the sound of my footsteps. She was placing a vase in the middle of the dark wood table and flashed me a smile that made my heart stop momentarily as she stood back, hands on her hips.

“There. Done.” Triumph and self-satisfaction brightened her eyes.

“With the entire project?” I asked.

Her smile grew. “With the entire project. Perfect timing, by the way. You ready for the walk-through?”

“Yep. Lead on.” I indicated she should precede me with a grand wave of my arm and was rewarded with a soft laugh that made me weak in the knees. How could she reduce me to a quivering mess with just a smile? I hadn’t felt this way with any other woman I’d had a relationship with.

A few days after my mother’s funeral, I had found my father sitting in the backyard, just staring. Not wanting him to be alone, I’d stayed, and we sat there in silence for a time before he spoke. When he did, it was of my mother. He told me about the first time he had seen her across the room at a college party. She had smiled, his heart had stopped beating for a moment, butterflies had started dancing, and that had been it.

“Every time she walked in the room, my heart would react the same way,” he had told me. “And it never stopped. Even when she was at her sickest, when she could barely get out of bed, I felt butterflies around her. Find someone like that, Liam. A good person who never stops making those butterflies dance.”

He’d stopped speaking then and resumed staring. I’d finally gone to bed and left him out there on the back porch, watching the garden my mother had so lovingly planted and tended. His words had never left me, though, and I continued searching for the person who caused butterflies every time they walked into the room. I’d come close a few times, but it had never stuck.

This time, though? My heart stopped every time I was around Bailey. And, man, those butterflies were dancing.

My pulse was, in fact, rushing as I followed her around the house, the moment of truth growing ever closer. It wasn’t so distracting that I couldn’t see the extraordinary job she had done. I might have been biased, but I wasn’t putting Bailey on when I told her she was extremely talented. She had somehow managed to create a modern and clean but welcoming space, both calming and bright at the same time, even in the light of a late, mid-winter afternoon.

We finished back in the dining room, and my eyes went to the large painting on the wall parallel to the table. Any evidence of my accident had been cleaned from the surface. I should have looked on it with distaste, but I couldn’t—in a very odd and disturbing way, I was glad that day had happened the way it had.

That day, I had been able to breach Bailey’s walls, or perhaps they had come down out of necessity. Even I had opened in a way I had never meant to, at least not this early on. And now, here we were, my heart racing, the butterflies doing a tango. Just like my father had said would happen.

“So what do you think?” Bailey was asking my opinion, but I could see in her smile and the brightness in her eyes that she knew what kind of job she had done.

“It’s amazing, Bailey,” I said, meaning every word. “I don’t think anyone could have done a better job.”

She beamed at the praise. “It was so much fun. No one has ever given me free rein to do what I wanted before, and it was a blast. Thanks, Liam.”

I could only grin, taking in the way she glowed with the happiness of a job well done, of creation. It made her that much more beautiful to me.

“Well.” It was almost a jolt when she turned toward her ever-present bag, which was always overflowing with folders and papers, swatches, and samples, and pulled out her tablet. “You know the drill—just sign and date that we did the walk-through, and you’re happy with the results. I’ll have Kristen send over a copy for you as well as the final invoice.”

I took the stylus from her and nearly dropped it because my hand was quaking so badly. This was the moment, I was sure of it, and I didn’t want to let it pass. So why did I feel like a teenage boy asking out his crush? Once I had gotten past the awkwardness of high school, women hadn’t intimidated me. I was decently relaxed with them, if I did say so myself. But Bailey was entirely different.

My heart in my throat, I signed my name where she indicated, dated it, and straightened. I offered her the stylus, watching as her hand stretched out, her fingers curling around it, and I closed the distance between us. She looked up, her eyes wide and lips parted slightly with surprise.

This was closer than we had been before, even at the hospital, and our height difference was suddenly apparent. Even in heels, she only came up to my collarbone. I had to bend my neck to look into her face, our gazes held together like magnets.

For a breathless moment, we stayed like that, staring at one another. My heart was racing, and I swear she was so close I could feel the same from her. And then I bent my head, pressing my lips to hers softly, gently, a question asking for permission instead of a statement.

Of course, I hadn’t meant to kiss her—I’d meant to ask her out. But seeing her here, glowing with excitement, so beautiful in the golden light flooding the room, every instinct had been to kiss her. But I hadn’t asked, and I expected her to pull away, even to push me.

Bailey stiffened for a moment, her hand pressed flat against my chest. But instead of pushing me away, to my amazement, she melted into me, the length of her body suddenly pressed into me as she pressed her lips back against mine in a clear answer.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and lasted only a few heartbeats. But I was still breathless when I pulled away. Bailey gazed back at me, her lips still parted as though she wanted more, her eyes wide and round in a face that was so, so beautiful with a soft flush on her cheeks.

For a moment, neither of us seemed to know what to say.

“Is that a thank you for the house?” Bailey finally asked, her laugh breathless and still with an edge of wonder and surprise.

“Among other things,” I replied with a chuckle, and her blush deepened. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

I was glad Hank had already left as I walked beside Bailey. The last thing I wanted was him there glaring at me when I fully intended to kiss his employer again.

Bailey paused by her door and turned to me. Her mouth opened as though she wanted to say something, but nothing came out, and she closed it again. I chuckled again, feeling a small smile pull at my lips.